


if you'll be my stars, then i'll be your sky

by Lobo_Loca



Series: Voltron Week 2016 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (or should I say Space Trip?), Afro-Brazilian!Lance, Angst and Humor, Canon-Typical Violence, Card Games, Gen, German!Pidge, Hawaiian!Hunk, Latino!Latino, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Road Trips, Swearing, Team Bonding, Teenage Shenanigans, Voltron Week, Work In Progress, space travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-08-07 22:17:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7731841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobo_Loca/pseuds/Lobo_Loca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[“Road trip!” Lance exclaimed.</p><p>Shiro sighed. “We are going on interplanetary reconnaissance and diplomatic missions, Lance. It may seem a bit scenic, but it’s not a road trip.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Hunk chimed in. “Dubiously edible food, extended periods of time in confined vehicles, strange places with stranger people, sleeping in vehicles instead of local establishments because who knows what happened in those beds: sounds like a road trip to me.”]</p><p>For Day 1 of Voltron Week: Space/Travel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a longish one-shot, but then it grew legs and, well, I am weak to the muse. So this will be a multiple chapter fic! Updates will be irregular since this is a WIP, but with my friend Serena (silver-yuka.tumblr.com) cheerleading and beta'ing, I should be able to finish it in a somewhat timely manner. Maybe.
> 
> This fic takes place one to two years after the season one finale.
> 
> Title from "Boats & Birds" by Gregory and the Hawk

“Road trip!” Lance exclaimed.

Shiro sighed. “We are going on interplanetary reconnaissance and diplomatic missions, Lance. It may seem a bit scenic, but it’s not a road trip.”

“I don’t know,” Hunk chimed in. “Dubiously edible food, extended periods of time in confined vehicles, strange places with stranger people, sleeping in vehicles instead of local establishments because who knows what happened in those beds: sounds like a road trip to me.”

Allura clapped her hands together, saying sharply, “Might we move on to team assignments and schedules now?” Once she was sure of the Paladins’ attention, she continued, “Pidge, Lance, you two will be taking the Delta Luminere, Centaurus X-3 Pulsar, and Psi Shimea Systems.” She pointed out a cluster of systems near the left fringes of the map.

“Shiro, Hunk, Keith, you three are bound for the Homino, Brugea, and Beta Apodis systems here on the other side. It shouldn’t take your teams more than two quartzes to complete your missions in these systems, at which point we will regroup and debrief in the Alpha K System,” she said, indicating a system on the lower fringes of the Galra Empire. “After debrief, Coran, Shiro, and I will determine the efficiency and effectiveness of each team and divide the remaining fringe systems appropriately. Each team is to check in every six chimes, starting when you depart the Castle of Lions. If someone misses a check in, we are to assume the team has been compromised, if not captured by the Galra, and a rescue mission will be prepared and mounted post-haste.”

Eying Lance pointedly, she stressed, “Do not miss check in, Paladins.”

“You all are scheduled for departure in four chimes, so I’d get packing if I was you,” Coran added.

As the Paladins headed for their rooms, Lance leaned over to Pidge and asked, “What was all that in Earth time?”

“60 tics in a tock, 60 tocks in a chime, 24 chimes in a solas, and 8 solases in a quartz,” Pidge recited, “so we’re regrouping in 17 days, we’re expected to check in every 6 hours and 22 minutes, and we’re scheduled for departure in 4 hours and 15 minutes.”

Lance patted them on the shoulder. “Thanks for the translation, Pidge.”

“You can thank me by not bringing a 64oz beverage on the mission. I am not stopping at every third planet so you can pee.”

“Aye, aye, _capitán_ ,” Lance said brightly, saluting sloppily before turning down the hall to his room.

Pidge sighed. The odds seemed about fifty-fifty whether or not Lance would make it out of the upcoming mission without a Pidge-induced accident. Which meant they had to leave their prototypes in lab to avoid temptation, and find something else to occupy their time. Pidge supposed if all else failed, they had their 3DS.

\-----------------------------

Pidge made it halfway through packing their bags before they remembered their 3DS. They checked the drawer under their bunk, their laptop case, their pillow, and their blankets, but the 3DS wasn’t forthcoming. Eventually, Pidge upended their room, but still couldn’t find it.

With a sigh, Pidge headed off to Hunk’s bunk. It wouldn’t be the first time Hunk borrowed it, fell asleep playing, and shuffled it out of sight and mind.

They rapped their knuckles on Hunk’s door impatiently.

The door slid open as Hunk called out, “Come in!”

“Have you seen my 3DS?” Pidge asked, surveying the mess of clothes, blankets, and knickknacks strewed all over the room. Just looking at the chaos too long made them twitch.

“Ah, yeah, I forgot to bring it back to you this morning, didn’t I?” said Hunk. “It’s probably around here somewhere….”

He searched through a knot of blankets and pajamas with his foot, unearthing Pidge’s green 3DS case after a few minutes.

“Here it is!” Hunk picked it up and handed it over to Pidge. “Sorry I cut into your packing time.”

Pidge shrugged, replying, “Few minutes doesn’t make a big difference. Besides, it’s not like you were doing it on purpose.”  

\-----------------------------

Shiro and Pidge were the first of the Paladins to the hanger, bags packed with spare uniforms, water bottles and filters, first aid supplies, and rope. Pidge had their laptop case with their 3DS case and a solar charging pack in addition to their main bag, strapped across their chest, and Shiro had a small tool roll tucked in with his extra socks for arm maintenance.

Coran flitted around the hanger with his tablet, occasionally loading supplies into the Lions and double-checking that all of the Lions systems were operating optimally.

Next was Keith, his single bag near bulging with a knife handle sticking out of a side pocket and practice staff in hand.

“How many weapons did you pack?” Pidge asked, eying Keith’s bag.

Keith shrugged. “As many as I thought I might need.”

“Were you planning on facing down a company of Galra soldiers by yourself?”

Keith shrugged again. “I mean, I probably _could_ , but since Shiro and Hunk will be with me, I wouldn’t necessarily call it _alone_.”

Pidge snorted.

“We are not going to be facing down a company of Galra soldiers, alone or otherwise,” Shiro said firmly.

“Even if we run into one on mission?”

“Well, maybe then,” Shiro admitted. “But only if it can’t be helped.

Hunk showed up a few minutes later with a backpack and a sack that clanged whenever it moved.

“We’re going on a mission, Hunk,” Shiro reminded him. “Essential equipment only.”

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’d prefer to make my own food while we’re lurking our way through the edges of the Galra Empire. You know, in case someone tries to, I don’t know, _poison us_ or something.”

Keith nodded, telling Shiro, “He has a good point.”

“I highly doubt Allura and Coran would send us without our own provisions. Right, Coran?” Shiro called out.

Coran turned to face them, indignant. “Of course we are sending provisions with you!” He waved his hand at the two remaining crates near the far wall, explaining brightly, “Altean travel rations! Compact, but add a couple drops of water and— _bam!_ —a delicious and nutritious meal that’ll fill you up for the entire day! Now, we’ve given you enough to last you four quartzes, so you shouldn’t have to worry about starving. Unless of course, you’re separated from your Lions or someone blasts a hole in the cockpit.”

Hunk held out his arms at Coran and looked at Shiro, all but shouting, _See?_

Shiro sighed. “Yes, alright, bringing cooking equipment is a good idea.” He glanced around at the assembled Paladins and asked, “Has anyone seen Lance?”

“He’s probably still deciding if he wants to bring his Blue Lion slippers or more moisturizing facemasks,” Pidge said.

Lance skidded into the hangar, loaded down with at least half a dozen bags and said primly, “I’ll have you know I managed to fit _both_ just fine.”

“A true accomplishment,” Keith drawled.

“It really is,” Lance returned. “Have any problems finding room for your hairbrush in between your knife collection.”

Keith frowned. “Why would I bring a hairbrush?”

“You don’t—there is no way you have that neat a mullet without a hairbrush! Helmet hair is also a thing! A thing that needs constant correction!”

“Right,” Keith said, dubiously.

Lance turned to his fellow Paladins beseechingly. “C’mon guys, back me up here!”

Shiro held up his hands and headed to his Lion. “You guys can sort this out without me.”

Pidge and Hunk squinted at Keith’s mullet.

“I don’t know,” Pidge said, “have we ever actually _seen_ Keith with helmet hair? Or bedhead?”

“Nope,” Hunk replied.

Lance turned to stare at Keith. “Do you just honestly wake up with your hair like that?”

“Yes?”

“ _How?_ Did you sell your soul for neat hair? No, no, you made a deal with a witch to always have perfect hair, but the flipside is that you can only ever wear your hair in a mullet. That explains everything.”

Keith glanced at Hunk and Pidge before replying, “I was born like this? And then just cut my hair when it gets into my face?” After a few moments of Lance staring at him slack-jawed, Keith said, “Whatever. I’m going to get ready for departure.”

Pidge checked their watch. “We’d better get moving if we want to depart on time. And I, for one, would prefer not to get on Allura’s bad side.”

Hunk and Lance blanched and bolted for their Lions while Pidge causally strolled towards theirs.

\-----------------------------

“Is it just me, or does Coran remind you guys of Nigel Thornberry sometimes?” Hunk asked over the Lion comms as he prepped Yellow for launch.

Pidge nodded. “Coran is a space version of Nigel Thornberry, definitely.”

Lance snickered before activating his external comm system. “Hey, Coran, could you say ‘smashing’ real quick?”

Shiro sighed.

“Smashing?” Coran repeated bemusedly, mustache twitching. “Why?”

Pidge rested their forehead against Grün’s controls, biting their lip to keep from laughing. Lance didn’t bother, just slapped off his external comms and cackled like a hyena.

Hunk explained to Coran, “You remind us of a character from an Earth kids show. His tagline was smashing.”

“I see. He must have been a truly remarkable character if you still remember him! I am honored you think so highly of me,” Coran said, puffing up with pride.

Shiro said, “Yes, he was certainly a…memorable character,” over the external comms before switching to the internal comms and saying, “I know the comparison’s funny, but make sure you guys don’t take it too far, alright? Coran’s not just a meme: he’s our friend.”

“Yeah, we got it, Shiro,” Lance said. “Coran’s a little kooky, but that just makes him awesome ‘cuz he’s family. Nigel Thornberry had his share of deep moments too, man.”

Allura broke in on the external comms, “Paladins, are you prepared for launch?”

“Black ready,” Shiro replied immediately.

Keith chimed in next, “Red ready.”

“Yellow ready,” said Hunk.

“Green ready,” Pidge confirmed.

“Blue ready,” Lance said.

“Good. Now, Paladins, you’ll find data tablets stored in the central systems of your lions,” Allura informed them.

“So it’s a PADD, basically,” Pidge muttered to themselves, thinking wistfully of the tools they had purposely left unpacked.

Allura added apologetically, “Except you, Shiro, yours was lost with the last Black Paladin, like the bayard.”

Shiro sighed. “I suppose I should be grateful they didn’t lose the last helmet too.”

“Seeing as they appeared to have lost everything else up to and including their head, you probably should be,” Pidge said absently as they examined Grün’s central system.

As Allura choked on air, a square green panel below Grün’s main console popped out slightly. With a quick pat to the controls and a thought of gratitude, Pidge gently tugged the PADD free. The screen lit up as soon as they touched the surface.

Clearing her throat, Allura continued, “On these tablets, you will find information about the solar systems, planets, and cultures you will encounter on your missions, as well the history of Altea and whatever other documents the former Paladins had stored on the tablets. They are also usable as verbal translators should you need them.”

Pidge followed down a rabbit hole of drop-menus until they stumbled upon a folder of text files that hadn’t been translated like the rest of the PADD.

Interesting, and something to work on translating during the boring parts of the mission.

“Best of luck and safe journeys, Paladins,” Allura said.

Coran started the countdown, and on “Zero!” the Paladins launched into space, splitting off into their diplomatic teams and catapulting past unfamiliar stars.

\-----------------------------

A few hundred miles into the trip, Lance turned the controls over to Blue and leaned back, concentrating on what he wanted and transmitting it to Blue. A few moments later, music started playing over the internal speakers.

“Is this—are you seriously listening to _‘Major Tom’_ right now?” Pidge asked incredulously, glancing up their PADD.

Lance shrugged. “It’s catchy and a classic.”

“It’s about a beloved fictional astronaut experiencing mechanical failure on reentry,” they replied dryly. “You couldn’t have at least picked the original version?”

“Sorry, Pidge, I actually like to understand the lyrics when I listen to music. Maybe think of that next time when you decide you don’t need a road trip playlist.”

Pidge snorted. “For one, it’s not like the Lions have an auxiliary port. For another, ‘road trip’ implies that there’s a road involved in some capacity.”

“Space trip, whatever,” Lance said dismissively. “And it’s not like you need an auxiliary cable or anything. I’m just feeding Blue input and they’re relaying output.”

“You have ‘Major Tom’ memorized. Why am I not surprised.”

“Because unlike some people,” Lance said haughtily, “ _I_ have taste.”

Pidge doubled over laughing and quite likely would’ve ended up crashing into a planet if Grün hadn’t taken over piloting.

“Rude!” Lance admonished, and pointedly played “Major Tom” on repeat for the first hour.

“Real mature, Lance,” Pidge said, after the third repeat. “Real mature.”

After the fourth repeat, Pidge tuned out the music and concentrated on investigating whether or not the PADD came with a stylus. They found one, tucked into a thin crevice on the bottom, barely wider and a little shorter than the lead of a regular wooden pencil. It felt incredibly delicate in Pidge’s hand, but a testing squeeze proved the material stronger than it looked. Pidge made a note on the PADD to ask Allura about the material when they regrouped. Moving the note to the side, they started romanizing the Altean text, brows furrowing at the unfamiliar words. To be fair, Pidge was far from fluent in Altean, but Allura had been trying to teach them and they had been digging around in Altean systems with help from Grün for nearly a year now. So Pidge had managed to pick up some words. Technical and mechanical words mostly, but words nonetheless. To be met so suddenly with so many unfamiliar words was strange, but Pidge always liked a challenge.

They also had an Altean to English translation algorithm on their laptop. But that would wait until Pidge had transcribed most of the text so they could run it at all once and hopefully discover what kind of files the previous Green Paladin had left behind.

Maybe it'd be information about the Lions. Or old stolen intel written in code.

Pidge could feel a cackle of glee bubbling up just thinking about the possibilities.

“You okay over there, Pidge?” Lance asked worriedly.

Pidge hummed back absently, focused on their task.

Lanced sighed, mumbling to Blue, “This is going to be a boring eight hours, isn’t it.”

He got an impression of laughter back, which, _rude_.

“Do you Lions even get bored?” Lance asked. “I mean, you spent 10,000 years or so stuck in an underground cavern. Most humans would’ve gone insane from boredom within a couple months.”

Blue projected a sense of drowsiness.

“Sleeping’s a good way to combat boredom. But 12 hours in Galra space while Pidge is absorbed in something that I probably don’t even want to contemplate? I think I’ll pass.”

A blue panel popped out from the central console accompanied by a faint sensation of being pat on the head.

“Okay, for one, while I get that you like pats, most humans find that condescending. For another, is that the data tablet Allura was talking about? Because while awesome, I’m pretty sure all that’s on there is study stuff and a briefing so dry I might get heatstroke or pass out from boredom so, y’know, _pass_.”

The data tablet launched from the central console and thumped weakly into Lance’s chest.

“Rude,” he muttered, but with minimal grumbling, he listened to the faint itching irritation and vague sense of purpose and opened the briefing on the Delta Luminere System.

Lance wondered if Hunk and the others were this bored.

\-----------------------------

Hunk squinted at his display, chin propped up on his palm, humming in thought. He drummed his fingers against his cheek. Listened to the distant rumble of Yellow’s engines.

“Got any fours, Keith?” he asked finally.

Keith replied smugly, “Go fish.”

“Dang nab it,” Hunk said under his breath as he tapped the deck on his display.  A six popped up and slid over to join his hand. Hunk surveyed his cards and sighed. Three fours, a two, a queen, a jack, a six, and a five were definitely not going to win this round.

After a few moments, Yellow projected the sensation of four taps followed by a burst of smug sweetness. With a sigh, Hunk sent his fours off.

“I asked Kuro for fours last time, got two fours, and now suddenly they have another four.  This seems an awful lot like cheating. Shiro, have you discussed the morality cheating with Kuro?”

Shiro closed his eyes for a moment, because really? “Hunk, the Lions are over 10,000 years old and have had _at least_ one prior generation of pilots. Whatever morality they have—which fortunately seems to align well with traditional Earth and Altean moralities—has likely been set for longer than any of us have been alive. So I highly doubt that they’d cheat at Go Fish.”

“You never know,” Hunk argued. “Maybe they’d be open to a moral debate to further understand Earth culture and afterwards they would reevaluate their moral code.”

“If you would like to attempt an in depth moral debate with the Lions, go right ahead, Hunk. But I think I’ll finish reading the briefing on Thala while you do that.”

Keith cut Hunk off before he could start that debate. “Hey, Hunk, got any queens?”

“This conversation isn’t over, Kuro,” Hunk said before sending Keith the queen.

Shiro turned back to the briefing with a sigh. At least it was only Go Fish. He shuddered to think of the utter madness and chaos Uno would be. Or worse: Monopoly. Just the word sent a chill up his spine, and his fingers tightened on Kuro's controls.

Kuro sent him a light brush of questioning concern. Shiro huffed and patted the center console affectionately, murmuring quietly, “Don’t mind me. Just thinking about things that could go terribly wrong like usual.”

\-----------------------------

Lance had made it through half of the briefing on Adhia before he decided he’d heard enough of “Major Tom” and switched songs.

Pidge wrinkled their nose, pausing in their transcription long enough ascertain that it wasn’t just their imagination that the song really was terrible. “What is this shit?”

“’The Fast Food Song,’” Lance replied proudly. “I spent two years driving my sisters to school—you can bet I made that as painful for them as it was for me. But the thing about listening to a song every school morning and afternoon for two years is that it grows on you after a while. Also, I would kill for a pizza or a Big Mac right now. Not that Hunk’s food isn’t great, but sometimes you want the classics, y’know?”

“Kielbasa and sauerkraut,” Pidge agreed wistfully.

Lance snorted, saying, “Uh, I’d rather eat tamales or paçoca personally, but to each their own, Pidge.”

“I’m not actually fond of sauerkraut. Like at all. But my mom used to make it all the time when it was cold out and the kielbasa was amazing after spending an hour baking with the sauerkraut. Sometimes Matt and I would help my mom make mashed potatoes to go with it. Dad wasn’t allowed to help after the first time he managed to shower all of us with half-mashed potatoes bits,” Pidge reminisced wistfully.

“We’re going to find them and get them home,” Lance told them. “Even if we have to go toe to toe with Zarkon and his shaggy-haired druid-witch-thing sidekick, we are going to get your family back.”

Pidge wiped their eyes with their sleeves. After they were sure their voice wouldn’t crack, they said, “I know we will.”

Eventually the last notes of the song faded out, and they flew in silence as Lance debated what to play next. He had several go-to cheer up songs, and even some go-to cheer up Hunk songs, but it was hard to tell what might work on Pidge. Even though Pidge willingly referred to the team as family, they were still guarded and inscrutable in unexpected ways. But knowing how much Pidge loved ‘bots and tech and anything new…

“Star Trekkin’” started without fail, first trumpeting notes resounding loudly in the previous silence. Then the lyrics started.

“What,” Pidge said slowly, “the _fuck_ is this and why haven’t I heard it before?”

Lance grinned. Mission accomplished. “This, my dear Pidgeon, is the true anthem of the Trekkies.”

“Call me Pidgeon again, Lance, and you’ll be able to sing the part about Klingons on the starboard bow without any problems.”

“Got it,” Lance said quickly. “Still, awesome song or awesome song, amiright?”

“I suppose,” Pidge allowed.

Lance cheered. “Alright! Favorite captain, go.”

“Picard,” they answered, rolling their eyes. “And let me guess: yours is James Tiberius Kirk.”

“I was Captain Kirk for Halloween four years in a row,” Lance told Pidge nostalgically. “I cried when I outgrew that yellow command shirt. I don’t mean a solitary tear or silently either; I mean flat out wailing, snot running down my face mixing with the tears, the whole nine yards.”

Pidge sniffed. “Perhaps your taste isn’t completely terrible and you apparently have _some_ redeeming qualities.”

“Wow, Pidge, that was practically a declaration of love coming from you. I mean, I’m honored that you feel so deeply for me, but you’re like a sibling to me, and I cannot in good conscious continue—”

Pidge interrupted, speaking sweetly, “One more word, Lance, and you’ll be getting my bayard somewhere the sun don’t shine.”

Lance mimed zipping his mouth shut, locking it, and throwing away the key, accented by enthusiastic muffled agreement. After a few moments, he went back to reading the briefing on Adhia.

Pleased with Lance’s silence, Pidge went back to romanizing the Altean text files, humming along to the song as they went.

Later, as “Star Trekkin’” ended, Pidge drawled, smirking, “You know, Keith thinks Star Wars is better.”

“ _What?!_ ” Lance cried. “That’s sacrilege! Has he never seen Star Trek or something?”

“He said he watched some TOS episodes. Can’t stand Shatner.”

“Okay, Shatner’s overacting isn’t for everyone, but TOS was revolutionary! _The Next Generation_ is a classic!”

Pidge shrugged. “I didn’t interrogate him, Lance. You want to know more, talk to Keith.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I will,” Lance promised darkly. “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to have season one of _The Next Generation_ on your laptop would you?”

“I might.”

“Would it be possible for me to borrow it sometime when we’re back at the Castle of Lions?”

“Depends. What’re you going to give me in exchange?” Pidge asked.

“One day of dish duty per two hours of screen time,” Lance bargained.

Pidge snorted. “Dude, Hunk trades that for 30 minutes on my 3DS. Use of my laptop is worth _way_ more than that.”

“Dance lessons?” Lance offered next.

“Yeah, no,” Pidge rejected immediately. “But please, continue trying to find something I might actually take you up on.”

“Like what? My silence?”

Pidge replied seriously, “Yes actually.”

“Wait, what? _Really?_ ” Lance thought about it for a moment. “Y’know, I’m not sure if I’m offended or proud that you’d actually take my silence as payment.”

“It’s not like you have anything better to offer.”

“I’ve got my iPod,” Lance argued.

Pidge snorted. “Uh-huh. Where is your iPod right now then, Lance?”

There was a paused before Lance admitted, “You’ve got me there. It’s been missing for a month now. I’ve turned my bunk upside down twice and _still_ haven’t found it. I think the mice might have taken it.”

“The mice,” Pidge repeated dubiously. They hardly doubted that was the case, unless the mice had managed to pry it out of Shiro’s hands. Which was unlikely because a) the mice adored Shiro slightly less than they adored Allura and b) Shiro had the most effective moping and/or pleading expression ever and no shame in using it. (Pidge refused to call them puppy dog eyes.)

Lance argued, “It could happen!”

“And you wonder why your silence is the only you have worth bartering with.”

“Worth bartering with _you_ maybe,” Lance said. “Some of us didn’t manage to bring all their computer equipment and their portable console with them into space, but I’ve got other skills of value. Where do you think Shiro got his eyeliner? Because you don’t just _find_ that kind of thing on an alien spacecraft or in a random pocket. Also, do you know how hard it is to make rejuvenating facemasks out of literal alien ingredients? Because let me tell you, the first few batches were not pretty. In general, and in terms of what they did to my beautiful skin.”

Pidge rolled their eyes. “Let’s start at two hours of silence for one hour screen time.”

“Oh, hell no. One hour of screen time is worth like fifteen minutes of silence. I mean, have you _met me_ , Pidge? Talking is part of who I am.”

“I’ve noticed,” Pidge grumbled. “So is bullshitting it would seem.” As Lance sputtered, they bargained, “One hour of screen time for an hour and a half of silence.”

“An hour for twenty minutes.”

“An hour for seventy-five.”

“Pidge, there are like 180 episodes of _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ , and each episode is _at least_ 50 minutes long. The pilot alone is an hour and a half,” Lance complained.

Pidge rolled their eyes. “Fine. An hour for fifty minutes. That’s the lowest offer you’re going to get so take it, or find something else to barter with.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Pidge,” Lance said, “but I suppose silence is just something I’ll learn to live with occasionally.”

\-----------------------------

“So,” Hunk said, after the latest round of Go Fish, “we have like four hours ‘til check in and another two hours after that until we reach Thala. What do we want to do now?”

“Well, we could modify the deck into Uno cards,” Keith suggested.

Shiro’s head jerked automatically in the direction of Keith and Palgan, declaring firmly, “ _No_.”

After a moment, Hunk proposed, “Three-player Pinochle?”

“What the hell is Pinochle?” Keith asked.

Hunk sighed. “Yeah, no, if I’m the only one who even knows what it is, we’re not playing it because I always forget the trump point values and I don’t have Tutu’s cheat sheet handy.”

“I’d suggest I Spy, but, I don’t know, don’t think that would work out too well.”

“I spy with my little eye something black,” Hunk said, throwing his voice up a register. He continued, voice returning to normal, “Oh, let me guess, the void of space,” before throwing it back up again. “Oh, however did you guess!”

Keith snorted. “You could always do your stand-up comedy routine for the next couple hours. It’s getting pretty good.”

“You think?” Hunk asked seriously. “Lance and I always did it as a duo back in high school for the talent show, so the solo act is a little shaky without him to play off of. Also, Lance is _way_ better at improv.”

“I don’t know, man. You’re pretty good on your own,” Keith said.

Shiro piped up without looking, “You know, you guys could actually read the briefing while we’re in transit.”

Keith and Hunk glanced at each other before replying together, “Nah.”

\-----------------------------

“ _Hellloooooooo~_ , beautiful Princess Allura and dashing Coran of the Castle of Lions,” Lance called over the long range comms as Pidge facepalmed and groaned. “This is Lance and Pidge, interstellar explorers extraordinaire, checking in. ETA is two hours to the forested planet Adhia, home to the peaceful Adean, Lusian, and Ranmar peoples. We’ve had clear flying so far, no sign of the Galra or anyone else out and about, so it should be smooth sailing until we hit planetside, and then we see if Pidge’s diplomatic training’s up to par.”

Pidge glared at Blue and Lance. “My diplomatic skills are _fine_. I’m honestly more worried you’ll be the one causing an intergalactic incident.”

“It is good to hear all is going well so far on your end,” Allura replied calmly.

She shared an exasperated glance with Coran before rolling her eyes. Coran huffed because, honestly, he expected no less from those two.

“Shiro and the rest checked in not long ago,” Coran informed Lance and Pidge. “They too are on track, if suffering from a bit of boredom. Apparently, they have been playing Earth card games virtually with the help of Pidge’s latest upgrades to the Lions.”

“Awesome,” Pidge cheered, grinning ear to ear. “Have they found the Uno set yet?”

“No one made any mention of it, so I would suppose not,” Coran said.

Lance said, “That’s a good thing, Coran. Trust me. We’ll check in again in six chimes. Lance and Pidge out.”

\-----------------------------

As Pidge and Lance entered Adhia’s orbit, Lance’s data tablet dinged. Handing the controls over to Blue, Lance grabbed the tablet and checked it. Pidge had apparently sent him some sort of text document.

Lance skimmed the document before asking incredulously, “Did you just email me a written contract with terms of use for borrowing your laptop?”

“Not that I don’t trust you to adhere to a verbal contract,” Pidge said breezily, “but I’ve found it’s best to always get things in writing.”

Lance sighed but, after spending a few moments looking for the stylus, signed the contract with a flourish and sent it back to Pidge as they landed on the dark side of Adhia’s surface, currently the western region of the main continent if the briefing’s map was accurate. “Anything else I should do before we land and call it a night?”

“Well, you haven’t update your will or medical proxy since I made you guys fill out the forms,” Pidge said thoughtfully. “You don’t _have to_ do it tonight, but I’d suggest doing it before we actually met with any of Adhia’s inhabitants. Or you could just leave it. Currently you have that Hunk gets everything except your Blue slippers which go to Keith, and Shiro’s your medical proxy.”

“How do you even have this stuff on your data tablet already?” Lance asked.

“It’s on the ship cloud, Lance. Grün did me a favor and downloaded all the things I had saved to my account on the cloud onto my PADD.”

“It’s a data tablet,” Lance corrected.

Pidge waved it off. “Data tablet, PADD, potato, po-tah-to. But seriously, did you want to change anything?”

“Leave it as is,” Lance said as Blue’s displayed dimmed to just exterior cameras. “Except for one minor thing: you get my iPod if I kick it. Because, really, your musical taste need some work, Pidge.”

Pidge bit their tongue to keep from pointing out that their musical taste was fine and that they already used Lance’s iPod readily enough. Instead, they made the necessary changes to Lance’s will and scheduled a data burst to the Castle of Lions for the same time as the next check in.

“I’ll take the next check in so get some sleep, Lance.”

Lance turned off Blue’s display and threw a sloppy salute in Pidge’s direction. “You got it, Pidge. Don’t stay up too late after check in, though. We’re getting up bright and early to meet the Lusians.”

“Don’t remind me,” Pidge grumbled as Lance dug out his sleeping back and unrolled it in onto the floor of Blue’s cockpit.

“ _Buenas noches_ , Pidge.”

Pidge smiled down at the Altean text files and replied quietly, “ _Schlaf wohl_ , Lance.”

\-----------------------------

Keith dodged a spattering of fire, yelling over the comms, “I thought the Thalans were peaceful!”

“The briefing might be slightly out of date,” Shiro allowed as he sent Kuro spinning into an evasive roll.

“Still rejecting our hails, Shiro,” Hunk said, maneuvering Yellow between the squad of Thalan fighters and his teammates. “Either they’re really drinking the Galra Kool-Aid or they’re tired of bending to the Galra’s will and think we’re Galra or something. Either way, I don’t think we’re going to be able to settle this peacefully.”

“I don’t know about that. Disable the fighters, take the pilots hostage—That might give us the leg up we need for negotiations.”

“We are not taking hostages, Keith,” Shiro and Hunk ordered.

Keith grumbled, firing at the edge of a Thalan fighter. “We took Sendek hostage, didn’t we?”

“That’s different. He tried to take over the Castle of Lions and was rightfully taken prisoner as an enemy combatant. We’re not sure these guys know we’re not Galra soldiers. So aim to disable, we’ll tow the ships to the surface, and if we’re still not welcome, we move on.”

“ _Fine_. But don’t expect me to help you softies tow ‘em back.”

\-----------------------------

Thala, Keith had found so far, was a desert world. Dunes of sand as far as the eye could see with infrequent and heavily guarded pockets of water, around which all the Thalan civilization seemed to be based. Which on the one hand, great: lots of places to hide a Lion in all that sand and no decent radar with all the sand flying around. Less great: trekking through all that sand in the middle of the night, especially when he didn’t have anything to use as camouflage or anything nearby to blow up as a distraction while he tries to break in.

His objective, a Thalan prison near the bottom pole of the planet, was comprised of five hexagonal outer building and a larger decagonal building in the center, and was patrolled by drones with searchlights in no discernable pattern. Getting onto the grounds hadn’t been hard, since the prison was surrounded by several hundred klicks of endless sand in any direction. Keith even made it as far as the north most building of the prison before he started worrying too much about the drones.

“’We’ll tow the ships to the surface,’” Keith mocked quietly in an impression of Shiro as he flattened himself against the wall. “’If we’re still not welcome, we move on.’ Yeah, well, tell that to the armed guards who oh so politely escorted you to a maximum security prison at gunpoint. And we have, oh, less than three and a half hours before check in. Which means that I have less than that to break you guys out of an alien prison, break into an alien military base to rescue the Lions, _and_ get off planet. _Piece_. _Of_. _Fucking._ _Cake_.”

Keith had begun to see the flaws in his fledgling plan the moment he set his eyes on the square laser-grid-force-field-thingy around the central building. It seemed to be emitting from two large poles on opposite sides of the building and poles in the ground running the length of each side. He was handy with a wrench and a soldering iron for minor repair work, but taking down a defense system without triggering all sorts of alarms? That was firmly Pidge and Hunk’s territory.

Maybe he could jump it? Keith peaked around the corner to squint at the lasers, keeping one eye out for the patrol drones. It was probably only, oh, ten meters or so from the ground. He was in pretty good shape and probably had the highest vertical jump of any of the Paladins. But ten plus meters? Yeah, no.

Pole vaulting, maybe? Except Keith hadn’t pole vaulted in years, there wasn’t anything to use as a pole anywhere near the prison and finding something would take too much time, and the pole would probably go into the lasers anyway, which would render the thing whole exercise pointless if the lasers were alarmed. So no to that as well.

A drone hummed overhead, searchlight sweeping in its wake. Keith pressed himself flat against the wall. The searchlight swung within a few centimeters of his foot, but the drone moved on, none the wiser. Keith let out a sigh of relief and focused back on the problem at hand. He glanced at the overhead at the building, then peaked around the corner to judge the distance between the building and the laser grid. Only about two meters of horizontal distance and a quarter meter or so of a vertical distance. A bit challenging, but nothing _too_ difficult. The only real problem would be getting on top of the building.

Keith tested his glove against the wall. Too smooth to climb on its own. In theory, he could use his bayard to punch hand and foot holds into the wall, but that was liable to attract all sorts of attention. He didn’t have a grappling hook, or anything to make one out of, either.

Another drone hummed past. Keith eyed it speculatively for a moment before shaking his head. It was too small to climb onto and too much additional weight would drag it down, which would most likely set off an alarm. If he was Pidge, it wouldn’t be a problem. Times like this were when Keith regretted turning down Pidge’s offer of hacking lessons the most. Next time they offered, he was going to suffer through hours of sitting perfectly still at Pidge’s elbow and _learn_.

Creeping along the wall, Keith checked for drones before ducking around the corner. Maybe he’d get lucky and find a ladder or something he could climb on to get to the roof. If he didn’t, well, so much for stealth missions. He’d have to hit the prison quickly because once the alarm went up, Keith’s three-odd hour time window crunched down to about thirty minutes if the stars aligned and the Thalan military base a few thousand klicks away didn’t have ships ready to go at the drop of a hat.

Keith slid around the next corner, nearly running head first into what looked to be a generator at first glance. With a grin, he reached up, grabbed hold of the top, and pulled himself up onto it. The generator wasn’t very wide, but it gave Keith the four step run he needed to jump and grab the edge of the roof. One pull-up later, he was on the roof.

One running leap later, Keith was airborne and sure he’d clear the laser-grid. Then he noticed the grid covered not only the sides, but also the top of the central prison building.

 _Ah, fuck_ , Keith thought mildly the moment before gravity took hold.

He tucked his arms against his sides and his legs together and hoped his torso was narrow enough to fit through the drone sized gaps. There could be enough time after he cleared the top of the grid to tuck and roll before impact. But if there wasn’t. Well. Terminal velocity _probably_ wouldn’t break his legs.

Hopefully.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's that second chapter I thought I'd be done with at the end of August 2016. It's only like 10 months late. OTL
> 
> Warnings: Keith's language deteriorates under stress, self-indulgent like whoa, borderline crack, and only lightly proofread bc if I tried to stare at it any longer I'd lose confidence and never end up posting it.

The grid flowed past Keith’s feet and hips easily enough, but he could feel the heat as the grid sheared off his armor from bicep to shoulder as an alarm blared and lights began flashing all throughout the compound. The second his helmet cleared, Keith tucked his head to his chest and drew up his knees. The initial impact was jarring, but he managed to dissipate most of the force by rolling. He rolled up to his feet, ignoring the stinging of his arms. Painful enough to be noticeable, but only a first degree burn. He’d fought with worse, but fighting and then possibly having to drag his possibly worse for wear teammates back to Palgan? Yeah, that was going to be  _ so much  _ fun.

Also,  _ fuck stealth.  _ Stealth just about cost him a major injury and hadn’t worked while it lasted anyway.

The Thalan guards started popping up out of holes in the roof that opened for them, closed in weird hexagonal chunks after they passed through, and were perfectly solid when Keith put his foot over one (which _ the hell _ ?).

Keith’s not exactly sure what he expects the Thalans to look like. Whatever it was, he certainly hadn’t expected all the feathers. Or the long sand-colored, flexible tunics of armor the guards wore over their feathers; gloves around their hands that left their three oddly featherless, almost scaled fingers uncovered; and armored wraps around their thin legs. And apparently they had the fucking  _ knives _ on their feet, covered in who knew what since these people didn’t appear to bother with mundane things like shoes. The thing where they blinked practically never and could rotate their necks almost 180 degrees was slightly intimidating. Also throwing sand in their eyes  _ didn’t fucking work _ . 

Keith probably should have read the briefing. To be fair, he hadn’t actually expected Shiro to get captured right off the bat, and the briefing was pretty much ancient. 

The guards were fast and had staffs, but Keith was faster and had his bayard. At first, he thought he might have even had a fighting chance, except for every strike he parried there was another from behind and three more from the sides. Dodging borrowed time and warded off any further injury, but as the fight continued Keith started to flag, especially with the chill of the desert night finally seeping into his skin.

He turned to avoid a strike, raising his bayard to parry another, and a guard managed to sweep out his feet with their staff. With a curse, Keith started to fall. He scrambled to catch himself before the guards could, but the solid ground that had been beneath his feet disappeared as one of the Thalan’s tunnels open. Tumbling through head first, Keith got a face full of Thalan chestplate. The landing wasn’t too bad, except for the Thalan guard shrieking like they were dying in his ear. Their wing (arm?) was bent at an excruciating angle from the fall, which Keith felt slightly bad about for about ten seconds.

Slightly because it wasn’t actually Keith’s fault that the goddamn tunnel had opened up under his feet. Ten seconds because that was how long he had before the rest of the Thalan guards showed up.

The guards didn’t so much pile on as cage his limbs and head with their feet and razor sharp talons. They snatched up Keith’s bayard immediately. He lost track of it as they frisked him. The guards bound his wrists tightly behind his back with some kind of smooth metallic cuffs and hauled him roughly to his feet. One of the guards wrapped their hand around his left bicep while a second kept a grip on the short link between the cuffs and a third walked ahead. They marched him down the hall. Then they proceeded to  _ accidentally _ clip him with every other corner since apparently the interior of the prison was some kind of intense rat maze.

“Seriously?” Keith asked after the impact of the fourth corner just about put him on his ass and the guard gripping his bicep wrenched his shoulder to keep him on his feet and stumbling forward. “It wasn’t like I landed on them on purpose. I was aiming for the roof—not my fault the roof wasn’t there anymore.”

The guards  ignored him and trekked on. Eventually, they tossed him unceremoniously into what Keith guessed was the warden’s office from the brief glimpse he managed before his face met the unforgiving metal floor. That was probably going to bruise. Allura was definitely not going to be happy about that if she found out about it, which was looking pretty likely since they were almost guaranteed to miss check-in at this point.

“Ah, I suppose this is the missing—what was it you called yourselves? Paladins?—the missing Red Paladin,” said an unfamiliar voice somewhere above Keith’s head as the door slid shut. Probably the warden, or whoever else was in charge of this place.

One of the guards hauled Keith to his feet by the cuffs. “He set off the perimeter alarm, sir. Tried jumping from Building Quenzal and managed not to kill himself—barely—going through the defense grid.”

“Not very bright this one,” the warden said, turning to look at Shiro.

Shiro was bound to a heavy metal chair bolted into the floor, his prosthesis imprisoned in some kind of oblong metal cage attached to the chair and stripped of his outer armor. Sweating at the temples and breathing just a little too evenly, Shiro looked like he’d rather be just about anywhere else, especially somewhere easily fortifiable with fewer hostiles just outside the door. Not quite as bad as Keith had feared he’d might be given the circumstances.  On the other side of the room, Hunk was similarly restrained, and had the frame of mind to flash Keith quick  _ not hurt  _ and _ not Galra _ handsigns.

So there probably wasn’t a Galra warship on its way. These guys were apparently just part of Keith’s school of diplomacy: blast first, talk later.

“He did, however,” the guard continued, “manage to disable several of our guards before we subdued him. Certainly fights like a Galra, sir. Looks like one too, though somewhat balder and less purple than usual.”

“Don’t you lump us in with those assholes,” Keith snarled.

The warden turned to him. “Oh? And aren’t you some of ‘those assholes’? The leader of your little squad is most certainly in possession of a genuine Galra arm and is, if I’m not gravely mistaken, the one known quite widely as the Galra gladiator Champion. Your ships also match the descriptions of artifacts Zarkon has been searching for since the Galra Empire was but a fledgling power: the illustrious Voltron Lions.”

“And it didn’t occur to you that maybe we’re—oh, I don’t know—fighting  _ against the Galra _ ? Because, really, would a group of Galra pilots disable your fighters and then helpfully tow them back to the surface?”

The warden clicked their beak, shoulder feathers ruffling briefly, and tilted their head slightly. “We Thalans are well aware of the tactics the Galra utilize, including the illusions of aid.”

“We’re only three people,” Hunk argued. “That’s not exactly a military force. And let’s be real, if the Galra Empire was going to try and spy on you guys, they would’ve sent one person, if not a drone. We’re Voltron Paladins. A diplomatic envoy to see who else wants to stick it to the Galra Empire and free the universe. Because that is definitely too big a job for just a giant robot and a couple Alteans.”

“Alteans? A race which has been extinct for several thousands of years, and I am expected to believe—” the warden started, cut off abruptly by a resounding knock on the door.  Their head feathers puffed up briefly, before slowly settling back into place as they called out at the door sharply, “Enter.”

The door slid open, revealing a smaller Thalan with a half-tunic of armor and a tablet. They scurried in, glancing nervously at the Paladins before addressing the warden.

“Inventory of the prisoners’ belongings has been completed, sir. All items have been identified, except for a small rectangular piece of tech, the purpose of which is unknown.”

At the mention of an unidentified device, Hunk turned ashen.

The warden squinted at him suspiciously and told the aid, “Bring it here.”

They waited in silence as the aid disappeared out the door.

“I wonder what it is, that it terrifies you so, Paladin,” the warden said, walking casually towards Hunk. “A weapon perchance? An  _ explosive _ ?”

“What? No, nothing like that. It’s just really, really important that it’s not damaged.  _ At all _ ,” Hunk stressed, glancing worriedly at the door.

Keith’s mind wandered to what Hunk could possibly have in his pack that the Thalans would be unable to identify and that Hunk would be desperate to keep in one piece.  Hunk knew better than to bring fragile things on mission, and the aid had specifically said tech so it wasn’t an animal Hunk had been planning on taking back to the odd little ecosystem housed in one of the Castle of Lions’ wings (again).

The aid reappeared with a clear thick-walled container, encasing a very familiar green console in hand with a gold Hylian crest brushed onto the top and a little leaf charm dangling off the corner.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Hunk!” shouted Keith.

Hunk shouted back, panicked, “I didn’t mean to, okay? It got mixed up in my pajamas somehow before we left. I thought I gave it back to Pidge when I gave them the case! And it got boring when we were waiting with the fighters.”

“If we die because of that thing, you are going to owe us...something I can’t think of right now,” Keith said, struggling to keep up the momentum of his tirade. “And that might not even be enough to make up for the indignity.”

The warden glanced between the two of them impassively. “And what exactly is ‘that thing’s’ purpose, if its condition must remain so perfect?”

“It’s a gaming console, and my friend is concerned about its condition because  _ it doesn’t actually belong to him, _ ” Keith explained tightly.

“A gaming console,” repeated the warden skeptically.

Hunk shrugged. “It was an accident. And space gets kinda boring after like an hour. Less than that when it’s all you’ve been seeing for the past like year. Also, Animal Crossing is very relaxing.”

“You accidentally stole that too? Pidge is going to  _ kill you _ , man,” said Keith.

“And what,” the warden intoned ominously, “is this ‘Animal Crossing’ you speak of, ostensibly contained within the device?”

Keith  subtly tested the strength of the cuffs as he replied, “It’s a game, stored on a small chip, that’s playable when it’s inserted into the console.”

“I see.”

Hunk perked up, glancing between the warden and the 3DS as he said, “You know, if you’d like, one of us could show you the game. Because really, what kind of Galra soldiers would bring a game along on a recon mission? Also, Galra games probably have a  _ lot  _ more violence and ruthlessness than Animal Crossing has. Which is to say that Animal Crossing is probably the least violent and ruthless game. Like  _ ever _ .”

The aide piped up, “The device does not contain any known explosives, sir, nor any known airborne toxins. The battery supports only a small electrical charge as well. If the device is a weapon, it is not likely a powerful one, so the chances of injury on activation are relatively low, sir.”

“Clearly it must be safe then,” the warden said flatly. They eyed Hunk for a long moment, feathers ruffling up and down, before addressing the guards and the aid, “Clear out, and any prisoners who leave the room unescorted are to be shot on sight.”

The aid scurried out promptly after setting the container with the 3DS on the warden’s desk, but the guards loitered until the warden ordered sternly, “Leave.”  

The guards released Keith, one of them kicking out his legs as they went. Keith turned his shoulder into the fall, gritting his teeth as the burned skin hit cold metal. 

Thalans, Keith decided as he awkwardly tried to stand without use of his arms, were almost Galra-level assholes.

The warden kept one eye trained on Keith and the other Paladins as he approached the 3DS and its container. They carefully opened the container. After a moment of inspection, the warden carefully lifted out the 3DS. They turned it over carefully, observing and tracing the creases and screws before delicately examining the charm dangling from the bottom. The warden turned to Hunk.

“How does the device activate?” they asked.

“You flip the top up, and there’s a dark circular button on the bottom right side, farthest from the hinge. Press it to ‘activate’ the 3DS.”

The warden calmly placed themself just out of arm’s reach of Hunk and slowly opened the 3DS. After a moment, they carefully depressed and released the power button on the 3DS. The screen flickered to life, followed shortly by the touchscreen. The menu loaded with the cursor already over the Animal Crossing leaf icon. Head cocking at a nearly 90 degree angle, the warden watched the title animation.

“Is this the ‘Animal Crossing’ you spoke of?” they asked, turning the 3DS towards Hunk.

He nodded. “Press the rightmost button on the right side and that’ll take you into the game.”

The warden turned the 3DS towards hunk, one finger hovering over the A button, asking, “This one?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“And what would happen if I pressed this top button here?” they asked.

“Uh, nothing, I’m pretty sure,” Hunk replied.

Maintaining eye contact, the warden pressed the top button and— _ surprise, surprise _ —nothing happened. It was almost offensive how little the Thalans believed them. Though, Keith supposed the Thalans did think they were Galra spies. So he couldn’t actually blame them too much on that front. Had the situation been reversed, Keith probably would’ve voted to shoot any potentials spies out into space in a waste pod and let them fend for themselves.

The warden pressed the A button, and the start-up sounds echoed in the silence of the office. The game music came on after a moment. Keith could see what Hunk meant about the game being relaxing if the rest of the soundtrack was similar.

Peering at the screen, the warden said, “There appears to be some kind of list, labelled in an undecipherable character system.”

“Last one on the list,” Hunk said. “Should be seven symbols long.” 

Keith could practically see the warden debating whether to actually follow Hunk’s instructions or not, and stifled a sigh. This would go  _ so much faster  _ if the warden would just give them the benefit of the doubt. Missing check in was not be worth the earful they’d get from Allura and Coran. Also, Pidge and Lance would hold this over him, if not both him and Hunk, for the rest of their lives.

Hunk walked the warden through some of Animal Crossing’s game play, interpreting the game text as they went. Keith tuned out after the first mention of a dog secretary to the mayor. Instead, he started drafting a speech about how this was whole incident was decidedly not his fault. Halfway through the rebuttal, the warden shut down the 3DS and set it on their desk. Keith perked up, feet braced to either run or fight. One of the warden’s eyes flicked over to Keith. But they simply picked up a small black rectangle from the desk, and turned to Hunk.

“Him first,” said Hunk, tilting his head at Shiro.

The warden clicked their beak together. “I am reluctant to remove the casing from the arm until the tracker has been removed. The nature of Thala and her storms hide us from the Galra’s sensors so far, but the signal it emits is unique and amplified. I will not have the Galra brought back to the doorstep of my people.”

“Tracker?” Keith asked, eyes flicking between the warden and Shiro’s strained expression. “ _ What _ tracker in  _ whose _ arm?”

“So yeah, upside of getting captured: we finally figured out how the Galra keep finding us, though it fell by the wayside for obvious reasons” said Hunk, eyebrows raised in an expression that screamed  _ calm the hell down _ .

Which, fair, as the warden’s feathers had noticeably puffed up in reaction to Keith’s outburst.

“Can you deactivate it?” Shiro broke in, voice tight and hoarse.

Keith glanced at him. Shiro wasn’t doing any better, still pale and drawn and sweaty, but he wasn’t doing any worse and, hey—an actual sentence! Interaction with his surroundings! That was a kind of progress. Hopefully the good kind.

The warden tilted their head. “Deactivation would require destruction of the device.”

“Which would require rooting around in the arm,” said Hunk. “So, okay, fine, me first, then Keith, and most of Shiro. The arm will have to wait until I have my tool roll handy.”

“A fair compromise,” said the warden as they released Hunk from his bindings.

Keith wanted to give the warden his back as much as he wanted to shake hands with Zarkon, but it meant the cuffs were coming off so he turned to give the warden better access.

The warden dropped a long, flexible strip of metal on their desk which Keith guessed had been the cuffs. They leaned out the door to the office and spoke quietly with the guards for a few moments.

“Please accept my deepest apologies for this incident. Tensions are high due to current events and our paranoia clouded our judgement.”

“We noticed,” Hunk said as the warden unsecured Shiro from the chair.

Shiro said tightly, “We accept your apology, and hope that our new relationship will be one based on cooperation against the Galra Empire.  Assuming of course we’re reunited with our Lions post-haste. It would be incredibly awkward for everyone if we missed check in with our headquarters.”

“Of course,” the warden said. “Transportation will be arranged as soon as the tracker is removed and destroyed.”

The aide returned shortly with Hunk’s tool roll, and the warden removed the metal cage from Shiro’s arm.

“You doin’ okay there, buddy?” Hunk asked Shiro as he took his tool roll from the aide.

Shiro snorted. “This is practically a vacation compared to last time.”

“Yeah, sounds like. It okay if I crack your arm open?”

“If it’s to get that damn tracker out,” said Shiro, thrusting his arm at Hunk, “then crack away.”

Hunk rolled his eyes before reaching forward to inspect the arm. After confirming the placement with the warden, Hunk carefully pried open a panel on the forearm. Keith hovered on Shiro’s other side, feeling useless.

“So, how about them Mets, Shiro?” Keith asked desperately, eyes carefully averted from where Hunk was no doubt meticulously picking his way through wires and whatever else made up the innards of Shiro’s metal arm. Also Shiro liked baseball. He could be provoked into tangents pretty easily too, which had been annoying growing up but would come in handy now.

Shiro blinked slowly, brows furrowing faintly. “Keith, I haven’t been on Earth for more than thirty minutes in almost three years. The Galra didn’t exactly have ESPN either.”

“Oh. Right.” Keith scrambled for another topic. Anything to cover the occasionally soft scratch of Hunk’s tools and the casing of the arm. Shiro’s old interests were pretty much out, and Keith’s were limited to weaponry, conspiracy theories, and cat pictures. Cat pics would’ve been extremely useful if he actually had any on hand. Weaponry and conspiracies theories were well and good on their own, but probably would not help what tenuous peace they currently had with the Thalans.

Maybe he could ask the warden about Thalan culture? The briefing was woefully out of date, and it couldn’t hurt. Probably.

So, asking about Thalan culture, an A+ idea really, and Keith had no idea how to address the warden. By job title? Or sir maybe? That was how the aide had addressed them, right? But was that reserved for subordinates to superiors or was that just a general respectful form of address? On Earth, Keith would’ve said the latter but, in space, it was anyone’s guess. 

Keith would really, really like to avoid a second diplomatic incident. Especially with Shiro not in the greatest shape.

The warden caught him looking and said blandly, “You appear to have a question of some sort, paladin.” 

“Er, well, I was kind of wondering about Thalan culture?” admitted Keith. “In general, since our briefing is out of date. Like 10,000 years out of date. And I would rather not accidentally offend anyone. So greeting procedures and social norms and that kind of thing would be useful.”

The warden regarded Keith silently for a few moments. “I suppose such things would be pertinent if we are to remain long term allies. However, memorization of customs will only serve you so well, therefore I will provide the context for the evolution of modern Thalan culture as well.”

“Uh,” Keith said, foreboding curling in his gut. “That’s really not necessary....”

But the warden was already staring vaguely into space, hands curling and relaxing slowly. “Introductions seem the best place to start. Highest ranking first, unless from different planets in which case the guests introduce themselves to the host first. So traditionally you would introduce yourself first before I introduced myself, but given our circumstances, it would not be remiss to introduce myself first: I am Shri Lokstra, Warden of South Polar Prison. As tentative allies, I ask to be addressed as Warden Lokstra by you and yours.” The warden held out a hand, middle of the three fingers extended.

“Keith Park, Paladin of the Red Lion,” Keith replied, trying to decide whether to meet (and shake?) Warden Lokstra’s hand with his middle finger versus his entire hand. He decided to play it safe and gently curled his index and middle finger around Warden Lokstra’s finger. “Paladin Park would be an acceptable address,” Keith added, trying to match Warden Lokstra’s formality.

Warden Lokstra clicked their beak quietly, head inclining slightly downwards. Keith hoped that was Thalan non-verbal for pleased. Or at the very least an emotion that wasn’t about to get his head separated from his shoulders with foot-knives.

From the other side of the room, Hunk made a triumphant noise. Keith glanced over and Hunk held up a small oblong piece of what looked like glass and metal.

Hunk held it out to Warden Lokstra. “If you wouldn’t mind doing the honors.”

“One moment, if you will,” they replied, striding over to their desk. They opened on of the drawers and rummaged around for a few moments before pulling out a small crystal vial. Warden Lokstra carefully uncapped it, instructing Hunk, “Drop the tracker straight in if you would.”

Hunk hesitated. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I have no idea what this thing’s made of, and even less of an idea about what’s in that vial. What if they react explosively? Or release lethal gasses?”

“Highly unlikely,” Warden Lokstra assured him. “And this is the most thorough way available to us to destroy the device.”

“If this goes wrong, Her Highness Princess Allura of Altea is going to be very upset,” Hunk warned, holding the tracker over the open vial. One hand covering his mouth and nose and face averted, he dropped the tracker into the vial of liquid.

The liquid fizzed slightly as the tracker dissolved into nothing, and Warden Lokstra recapped the vial and stowed it away in their desk.

“I’m really glad we’re allies if you guys just have that stuff lying,” Hunk blurted out. “Because that was slightly awesome and really terrifying.”

Shiro sighed. “I think all parties are glad we managed to overcome our less than stellar first encounter, Hunk. Now, can we get our Lions so HQ doesn’t send an armed search party?”

“Certainly,” Warden Lokstra replied. “Wait a moment while I inform the guard and arrange an escort.”

As soon as the door closed behind Warden Lokstra, Keith turned to Hunk. “Can we please try to keep up appearances as the defenders of the universe and not like the Galra’s one lucky hit from ending the most open resistance they’ve faced in 10,000 years or so?”

“I’m sorry I lost my cool,” Hunk admitted, “but the fact that some warden just has that stuff lying around in his office implies that it’s widely distributed in that form and probably as weaponized as they can make it. That is like the base equivalent of having napalm as a paperweight. There’s also the fact that the Thalans managed to kick the Galra off their planet without outside intervention, and yet Zarkon and his buddies haven’t razed it to nothing. We definitely want these guys as allies.”

“No argument there,” Shiro muttered.

The door opened, revealing Warden Lokstra flanked by four guards. Keith eyed them closely, but he was pretty sure none of them had been on the roof or part of the group that had initially captured him. Which was no doubt purposeful as a nod of respect and a tacit request to forget that particular kerfuffle had ever happened.

Keith had no intention of forgetting how exactly they’d ended up here. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t put it aside for the good of the team and the universe.

“Perhaps I can interest you in the history and symbolism of our planetary emblem on the way to your Lions,” Warden Lokstra suggested as they departed the prison, gesturing to the beige banner on the wall decorated with a pinkish desert flower surrounded by a half wreath of leaves above some Thalan script.

Keith made slashing motions across his throat at Shiro.

“Uh,” Shiro stalled. “Maybe we could tell you more about Earth and our cultures?”

Warden Lokstra considered that, tilting their head slightly to the side. “That would certainly be equally as interesting. Firstly, out of pure curiosity,” Warden Lokstra prefaced, “what is an ‘asshole’ and why is that an insult among your people?”

Keith and Hunk exchange a look before they clapped Shiro on the shoulders. Hunk said, “I think we’ll let you take this one, oh wise leader.”

“Thanks, guys. Really,” Shiro intoned flatly as they scurried after the rest of their Thalan entourage.


End file.
